An Outing
by mortianna
Summary: Harry and Snape go to New York. Snape wants to attend a very important meeting and Harry wants - what? Slightly AU, slash, PG-13 (really:-)


Wonders never cease – I FINISHED a story. As opposite to: I BEGAN another story.

Well, this one is self-explaining.

But beware: I couldn't fit in a real hot steamy you know what into it. Seems it is really too hot for getting all sticky. More sticky, I mean. 

So this is really only PG13 or something. I wouldn't know anyway.

So here we go: 

SS/HP (yawn, as if I EVER do anything else!)

Slash!

Erm warning for – romantic stuff! 

Ah well, and this one is for LL = Moni – in fond remembrance of things past!

And for our poor Aello, who has decided to do a Magisterarbeit on slash and now has to get on with it. "WORK to do, dear!!! (and thanks for the fish:-)"

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An outing – An essay on cauldron thickness

"Forget it", snarled Snape. "This won't lead you anywhere, Potter". 

A green flash of light. "You bet?!"

"Cool costume, man!". The huge black man, adorned with the most outrageous colours Harry had ever seen on anyone besides Dumbledore, patted Professor Snape on the back in passing. Harry was just fast enough to grab the Professor's wand hand, before he could do anything irrevocable. Fortunately the man was gone and lost in the middle of the masses of people.

"Madness abounds", sneered Severus Snape, not missing a step in this whirlwind of people people people, noise and smell. Harry was utterly overwhelmed by it. Snape must be too, but he surely wouldn't show it. 

Well, he could play cool, too, Harry was determined. He sniffed the smell he had already decided was typical for this town – that of pretzels and hot dogs, which were sold at any and all street crossings they came by. He must have one, if it was the last thing he did, Harry thought. But not now. Snape was in an evil enough mood as it was. So he just followed Snape and tried not to loose him. Hard enough. This Times Square was more crowded than Diagon and Knockturn Alley taken together, at the beginning of term, even. It was not really a Square, though. Funny thing, muggle names. 

They had flown in with this muggle device known as an aeroplane. Of course Severus had done nothing to hide the fact that he was a wizard. Well, he didn't show his wand freely, not when Harry was fast enough to grab his hand, but he wore his usual uniform of ancient black clothes and robe. For a man who had tried to kick him and Ron out of school in second year, because Muggles had seen them fly a car to Hogwarts, Severus was not overly concerned with what the Muggles thought of him. 

Well, they might think what they might, Harry had noticed, but no one dared talk to the man. He was just as forbidding and stern as he appeared in school. His aura worked on the Muggles, too, it seemed. There had been this woman, a flight attendant of sorts, who had made starry eyes at Snape, which the man of course didn't notice. Harry had and had thought of telling Snape, just for the fun of it, but had restrained himself. He and Snape could possibly have survived, if something happened to the plane, but the Muggles surely couldn't, and Harry had a soft spot still for other people who weren't in the possession of power. And now this man had – touched - Severus. Harry giggled.

The frown. The gaze. How the man had noticed him giggling when he was 10 feet behind, was beyond him. But he had, and he had turned around to subject Harry to the glare. Harry felt like giggling again – the scene reminded him of something he had learned long ago, in his Muggle school, in something called religious studies. Yes, the Muggles tended to believe in higher beings, as they couldn't do magic themselves. And there had once been a man who had parted the waters of some sea or other and his people had followed him through it, through their belief. Harry hadn't believed the story at the time, and later, when he came to Hogwarts, it became as clear as the sea. This Moses must have been a great wizard. 

Well, and now the waters of people parted around the black figure of Snape, whose frown was probably the worse for wear. And for having to carry a big piece of luggage bodily. He hadn't had the time – the time in private, in this town there seemed no place to be private at all – to shrink the valise after getting it back from the carrier. Harry still thought it was magic they had gotten it back. Then they had entered the first bus that came by – Harry had asked the man with the ticket machine where they were going, and he had looked at him as if he was an especially idiotic pupil, well exactly like Snape looked at him, and said in a tone of great worldliness and annoyance that made Harry feel like a dumb 5 year old: "New York City". Well and here they were now, after the bus had spit them out at some large building or other, with no time nor place to apparate to the hotel or at least shrink the baggage. 

Harry tried to appease Snape with what he knew to be his most charming and demure smile. Something dangerous in the black eyes lit up, something which said: "Later". Harry shivered. Okay, the man wouldn't want to kill him in front of all these hundreds, thousands of Muggles. Fair enough. And good for him.

"This –is – it?" Harry asked and looked around in the room. He hadn't look far. In fact: he couldn't look far. The room was – tiny. And it had one bed which made up most of the available space. Not that it was overly large. It was only that the room was really really small. A cupboard. Two small windows. A TV hanging from the ceiling. And – the bed. 

Harry looked at Snape. The man looked as out of himself as Harry had ever seen him. "This can't be it", he ground out. "There must be a mistake of sorts." Severus Snape tried to do what he always did to up his mood when there was nobody around to swear at or humiliate or when he for whatever reason didn't think it advisable to mistreat the person around – he strode along the place. Well, he would have, but he hit the TV with his head after one step. 

Harry averted his eyes politely and tried to hide his quivering lips. His nose caught something else. He sniffed tentatively. "It smells strange", he said. 

Well, that was that. All that Snape needed, right now. He was up and above Harry in one second flat. "And whose fault is that, Potter?", the voice was as low and deadly as Harry had ever heard it. "Do I really need to remind you that you shouldn't be here in the first place?"

Harry stood his stand. He blinked, but just a little. "But I am", was all he could say under the stifling presence of the man and his eyes. For a moment Harry thought that Snape would really hit him. But he didn't. His lips moved without a sound, but Harry had no problems to read the words: "Insufferable brat". Harry was quite content. As long as Snape used the usual nasty words, he was safe. He wouldn't have a heart attack or something like that. That would be really difficult.

"No sir, I'm sorry, we don't have any other rooms available". The woman at the front desk looked friendly enough, but her voice showed as strongly as that of McGonagall that she wasn't up to any nonsense. "There is a skittles club from the middle west coming today, all 150 people." Harry saw Snape's hand turn into his pocket. His own hand shot forward as it was quite used to by now. "But surely you have one other room available?", he asked and tried his smile again, the one that made Mrs. Weasley think he could do no harm. 

"No sir, as I already said to your – friend", that look was really something even Snape could get himself a piece of – "we have no more rooms available for the weekend." Snape grunted, Harry sighed. "Why?", the woman asked, clearly stretching her patience to the utmost. "What is wrong with the room?"

"It is tiny", Harry said timidly. Snape snorted. "It is completely inadequate. For that ridiculous amount of money you are charging this is robbery."

Harry knew that wasn't the most sensible thing to say, he didn't even need to see the face of the woman turn an ugly shade of red. "You're quite free to look for another hotel and another room, sir. But as it is labour day weekend, I would be very much astonished, if there were any other rooms available, apart from the really expensive ones. But you are free to look for yourselves. Of course you have to pay for this room too, as you have booked in advance. Have a pleasant stay, sirs."

Harry tried to follow Snape who was nearly running, fuelled by his anger. He felt like an idiot, having allowed Snape to make the arrangements. Snape, who had never left Hogwarts for the last, well, 20 years or so. At least, he, Harry, knew a TV when he saw one and knew that it was not good to run against it. But no. There was no use in berating himself. He had had enough of a hard time, had even turned to blackmail of a kind, to make Snape take him with him. Snape would have never consented to let him do the planning and organising. He would never acknowledge or even dream that there were things Harry was better equipped to do than Snape himself. Well, perhaps besides Quidditch. Now they would have to live with what Snape had organised for them. Well, there could be worse things. This town was so – amazing. Full of the strangest noises, colours, smells, and people. 

He followed the billowing black robes –somehow Snape managed to do this parting thing again, something which Harry himself clearly couldn't and so he decided to wait until Snape slowed down a bit and talk to him then. It wasn't easy to follow him as it was, how much more difficult would talking and running at the same time be. Well, if he had his broom, Harry thought wistfully for a moment. But no. This town was exciting enough as it was.

Snape slowed down after a bit, but didn't turn around to look for Harry. Surely not. Harry wouldn't have expected any less from him. He decided not to be vindictive, but to play nicely. There were times when nothing else worked with Snape. And he wanted this to be a success. He had so looked forward to come to this big town, to THE CITY, to leave Hogwarts behind for just some time. 

Harry stepped near the other man, who still gave off waves of anger. His usual smell was a little overlain with the odours of the city. Harry resisted to sniff openly. Instead he said: "Look, it's been hours since we had something to eat. How about we go into this diner over there to sit down, talk and have a bite or two? Maybe a drink?" 

Snape looked at him for what seemed an eternity without moving one face muscle. Then he turned his eyes to follow Harry's gaze, with excruciating slowness. Then the piercing gaze was back on Harry. "Talk?" "Yes", said Harry, used to the amount of wickedness the man managed to put into a word most people considered harmless enough, "we have to make plans, haven't we? And it doesn't do to talk in the street, the people would run us through."

Snape still stared. "Yes indeed", he said after what seemed like another eternity. "The people here are even worse than first class Gryffindors." "Hear hear", said Harry, "now are you ready to face a New York waitress?" The glare. "You of all people should know, Potter, that I am ready to face DOWN most creatures in this world, be they human or non-human, alive or not really dead." "Right-o", said Harry, who knew that his easy fluency in the local speaking habits would do nothing to enamour Snape to him, but couldn't for the life of him abstain from doing so. "Here we go." He didn't add a "hon", though. He was not that mad. 

"What", Snape asked pointedly, picking with his fork into a mass of creamy yellowy stuff on the plate before him, "is this supposed to be?"

Harry giggled, he couldn't help it. He was relieved that they had made it this far, to dessert, without any accident. Well, nothing that could be called a real accident. Harry had somehow managed to take the lead, talk to the waiter, and get them a table. Snape had only stared murderously as the man had seemed somewhat more hectic than the house elves at Hogwarts. Harry had avoided a clash of cultures by ordering coffee and water – yes it was late, and yes, they didn't drink coffee at home, but he had read his books and knew that the most important thing when in New York was to act like the New Yorkers. Plus, the stuff they called coffee here couldn't harm a three year old.

Not that it tasted well. No match to the pumpkin juice at home Harry thought fondly. Severus glared at a neighbouring table full of youngsters who seemed inclined to make fun of the stern teacher, but refrained after THE GLARE. Severus himself didn't look into the menu. "You brought me in here, Potter", he growled, "now you try and find me something to eat which doesn't kill me on the spot."

"No problem", Harry had said more cheerily than he felt. He was not exactly an expert on what Snape enjoyed eating – if he liked eating anything at all. "These things won't kill you right away, only with time." The glare got harder. "But we won't stay long enough to do real damage to our health, so we might as well go for it and eat the stuff they eat here."

Snape had snorted. "Well then, Potter. Kill me softly. That has always been your goal, hasn't it?"

It was Harry's time to glare, he thought, but he went for lifting his eyebrows in exasperation and sigh. Loudly. The waiter was back at this slight hint. Very quick, these New Yorkers. And Harry ordered two bagels, one with cream cheese and lox, the other with ham and cheese, one coke and one beer. Snape only glared during this and then lay back a bit on his chair and looked around, only his eyes moving. Everywhere he looked, silence fell. Harry managed not to giggle nervously and not babble incoherently just to fill a void. 

Then came the beer and the coke, the coke very large and with more ice in it than a regular English winter, the beer in a paper bag. Snape raised an eyebrow. "And what is – this – supposed to be?" Harry remembered learning about this special predicament in Muggle studies. Not that he understood it, not nearly, but he knew what it was. "A brown paper bag", he said, looking into those dark eyes that narrowed visibly. "Ah", was the breathed reaction to that completely logical answer. Harry sighed. "They have funny rules with alcohol here, even funnier than in Hogwarts." Not that there was any alcohol at Hogwarts, well, not officially. But of course every student worse their salt had found ways. 

Snape's eyebrow was raised in a way that made Harry's breath come faster. "The beer's in the bag", he said, as if that explained anything and retreated to his coke, leaving it to Snape to stare at the paper bag and after a long while, a very long while, taking a sip. He had not exactly spit it out all over the table, but Harry was sure that the paper bag was still holding most of its initial load when dessert arrived.

"This is another famous speciality of the place", Harry said now, looking fondly at the yellowish mass on their plates. "New York cheese cake. Enjoy". The eyebrow was raised again and Snape's spoon was still in mid air while Harry had already gulped down most of the fattening, diabetes-inducing, vein-clogging stuff. 

Snape's face still showed doubt when his spoon finally dived into the cake, still showed it when the spoon reached his lips, but went blank when he swallowed slowly, very slowly. Harry watched mesmerized, even if it would kill him to admit it. "What do you say?", he couldn't help asking. "Do you like it?"

Of course Snape wouldn't be rushed. Not by Harry Potter, not by anyone. His throat worked around the cake, his lips moved slightly, even the merest tip of his tongue showed for a second, as if tasting the aftermath of sweetness. His eyes looked – comfortable, even if Harry wasn't so sure that was an expression he had ever seen on Snape. 

Harry gulped and smiled. "You like it, you like it, come on, admit it, it won't kill you, will it?" He just about managed not to jump up and down on his chair. Professor Severus Snape, the terror of Hogwarts, actually enjoying a Muggle-made piece of ridiculously unhealthy piece of eatery, was surely a milestone in history. 

The slightly moist lips opened. "This is really interesting". Silence fell, while Snape seemed to taste again the remnants of the cake. He had only taken one bite so far, but had made more of it than Harry had with the entire piece of cake. 'That's the difference between him and me', Harry thought, 'well, one of them. If he indulges, it doesn't take much for him, very little goes a long way, but for me its mostly: take it all in one bite and gulp it down and wait for more'. He wasn't sure what that said about the both of them, though.

"I have to admit that it tastes wonderful. In an awful way, of course. It is strange. I'll have to explore it further." And Snape drove his spoon again into the sweet mass on his plate and Harry got so nervous and envious watching him eat it, and it lasted for hours, that he waved the waiter to bring him another piece of cake. Which earned him a raised eyebrow and a very peculiar feeling in his stomach, which he knew only too well, from after the sorting ceremony and Halloween feasts at school. He rather liked it, it felt like home in the strange place he was in.

Afterwards they went back into the whirlwind of people out there on Times Square It was dark now, and yet it wasn't. There was no night time in this place. There seemed to be even more people and the sounds coming from the open shops, discotheques and cinemas, combined with the nerve-wracking noise the ambulances and police cars made, which seemed to be the only cars in this town, together with the yellow cabs which looked like myriads of ants crawling over the earth, was as far away from a night in Hogwarts as one could get. Harry enjoyed it with all his senses. A great part of his joy was made up by watching Severus Snape react to the people flooding around them, and the reaction of the people to Severus Snape. He could have watched that the whole night. Snape didn't realize that he parted the waves, he didn't notice people staring at him. He, whom didn't escape a thing a student did in Hogwarts, seemed to be off duty. He didn't notice people, period. But the people noticed him.

Harry ran straight into Snape, having followed a nearly naked man, in white bath trunks, white cowboy boots and hat and a guitar with his eyes. "Sorry", he muttered automatically, rubbing his toe. The man's boots were as hard as stone. Snape stood silent and erect, his dark eyes a penetrating gaze, never noticing the tidal wave his standing forced upon the people. 

"I don't know about you, Potter", he said, and his tone and face clearly gave away, if only to a faithful follower of his every look, that he didn't care, either, "but I am fed up to the brink with everything this town has to offer. I think I shall retire." Uhum", said Harry, thinking longingly of all the riches the night in New York had to offer – he had read about it in a book, Hermione would have been proud of him – but felt a little tired himself. It had all been overwhelming – and there would be other nights. Well, as far as he knew, there was a slight chance that when he awoke the next morning, this whole town would have been gone, like a Fata Morgana. 

Only when they entered their room, did they remember why they had left it in the first place. "Gods", exclaimed Harry, having hit his toe for the third time. Even Snape had lost some of his usual composed demeanour. "This situation requires some thinking", he muttered bitterly. "Don't", he raised his eyebrow against Harry, who had only just begun to open his mouth. "I said 'thinking', Potter, that should clearly leave your – contributions – out of the picture". Harry closed his mouth with a snap.

"Okay, first things first", Snape seemed to have reached a conclusion. "Bathroom – you, then I. Bed – same order. Light out – sleep. Should be manageable, even for you. No wandering around in the night, no kitchen raids, peace and quiet. Sleep. Tomorrow, in the morning, same order. Out of bed, bathroom, breakfast. Then I'll go to the Bicentennial Meeting of the Finest Potion Masters that Ever Lived – and you will kindly not set the town on fire. Understood?" The black eyes seemed to penetrate Harry right through to his dark heart, in which there was nothing but a lust for mischief making, according to Snape, Harry thought. Nonetheless he complied – for now. He would be free tomorrow. "Aye aye, Sir", he saluted, and went into the bathroom. A snort followed him there. 

He didn't take long, he never did. Using the loo, washing and brushing his teeth – what more was there to do? His hair would never be tamed, so why even bother? And if he was lucky, Snape would take his time, and he could watch TV for a while. Harry grinned. He was quite fond of watching TV, it was all so outrageously funny and had nothing at all to do with life as he knew it. He had gotten used to it in the time with the Dursleys, when they had left him with this old ugly neighbour and went for outings they didn't consider him fit to come to – didn't want to spend any money on him, did they? Harry felt the old bile rise, but pressed his lips together and left the bathroom. 

Snape hadn't moved or so it seemed. There was the awkward moment when Harry thought that the only thing left for him to do when following Snape's rules was getting undressed, but the other man was only on his way to the bathroom. The black eyes dared him to do something stupid and take the blame for it, but Harry didn't. He waited patiently until the door had closed behind the Professor, then dropped his shoes, socks, pants, and shirt, and climbed into bed in his underpants and a T-shirt. He grabbed the remote control from the bedside table on the other side – Snape's side. How typical for the man to have it on his side. Which was really awfully near to his own side. Harry swallowed a big lump but decided to ignore the ominous signs. If Snape could do, it, he could do it, too. 

Harry switched through the channels as only one could who had learned that task early in life. News, weather, a commercial, another commercial, a soap about people in a hospital, a movie about a black sheriff, another commercial. Nothing could hold his attention for long, and so he kept on switching channels.

"How completely like you that is". Harry started and would have nearly jumped out of the bed. The dark voice was all over him. It really was a very tiny room. "Pardon?", Harry asked and didn't know where that came from. He really wasn't the pardon type. Must have already rubbed off on him, from local custom.

Professor Snape moved around the bed, still – or again? – in his robe. The impression the flowing movement usually made, was a bit dampened by the fact that the robe got caught by the wardrobe. There was the sound of fabric tearing, followed by a curse. Harry bit his lip. 

Then there was the sound of cloth flowing to the ground, and shortly after Harry felt the bed sink in. It really was a small bed. 

"No concentration. No concentration at all", Snape's voice was somewhere over his right ear. "No concentration on any one topic at hand, however shallow it may be, but switching from one to the other with no time to understand a single thing. Small wonder you never were any good at potions."

"Oh, that", Harry said weakly. "There were different reasons for that". But his hand didn't touch the remote again, it lay between his body and Snape's, as if it didn't dare to move. Stupid hand, intimidated by the potions teacher. 

A snort that moved his hair. Harry shivered. "Were there, indeed?" Harry was jumping up and down in the bed, but not on his own accord. It seemed that Snape was searching for a comfortable position.

Suddenly the bed was still. Very still. Harry's hair stood on end. The silence sure was reeking of imminent danger. "Pray tell, Mr. Potter", the soft voice of the Potions professor breathed into his ear now, "what exactly were these reasons? I die to learn."

Harry didn't submit to the urge to shiver violently. That just wouldn't do. He knew how to handle Snape from long experience, dammit, and the fact that they were in bed together didn't change that. He swallowed the lump that seemed to have come from nowhere into his throat and reached out with his hand. "Don't you think you could stop that 'Mr. Potter' thing now, Sev? We're alone in here, and nobody is going to listen in on us anyway." The hand he had been touching was ripped away. "That is not the point, and you know it", growled the teacher. Harry reached out his hand again - he knew he could do stubborn with the best of them, old Gryffindor trait, the one which had convinced him, much more than Dumbledore's babbling about decisions, that he was sorted into the right house after all. "Then please, for the sake of Merlin and the wizard world, what IS the point? I am not ashamed to say that I can't see it. No one would, by the way".

The dark eyes glared, and the shoulder under Harry's hand twitched. "I am not here to be understood. What did you think, then, this was all about?" Well, at least he wanted to know that. Harry wasn't sure he had an answer to this one, though. Not one that was logical or even sane. "Erm, about you being at your most Snapish? About you having your way and everybody who wants to follow has to give in to you?"

A snort. "So why did you give in to me, anyhow, Potter? Not something you are very famous for, giving in to anyone, least of all your former Potions teacher?" The dark eyes widened meaningfully, than turned into menacing slits again. Snape could do ominous and dangerous even in bed. 

Harry had asked himself that question time and again, and the only answer, the answer of all answers would drive the man away. Harry didn't want to search his reasons for following Snape too closely, much less tell him. He wasn't prepared for more embarrassment and rejection. He'd had enough of that in his childhood already. So Harry opted for the sensible approach. Rational wasn't something that people thought of first when talking about Harry Potter, but he had learned something over the years. 

Harry leaned back against the head board. "Who could resist the temptation to see this city? Especially after having been shut away in a cupboard and then in Hogwarts for years? I couldn't. And if that meant following in your steps, well, it had to be so." Black silky hair tickled his cheek as Snape sat back to and leaned over him. Harry felt the urge to shiver, just a little. 

"Ever the self-sacrificing Gryffindor, are we? It is really quite nauseating". Harry heard the words but couldn't concentrate as much as he would have liked to. "Am not", Harry pouted. He felt the urgent need to play, he didn't know where that stemmed from. Well, he knew he could do the insolent brat in his sleep, just like Snape could do the long-suffering Professor. It was their past, after all. But what was so nice about the past? It was over. And he could leave it behind him, even if someone else he knew couldn't.

He faced the man looming above him. "Sorry", he said, without really feeling it. The eyebrow went up and the face came nearer. "Are you?" "No". Green eyes held black ones, never going to submit, to give in. They might be engulfed by black ones, lose all their power, but succumb they wouldn't. 

There was a sigh. "Oh, okay, if you must. Let's have it your way, Mr. Potter. Shall we?" And the hot mouth was on Harry's neck, sucking at the exactly right spot. Harry squirmed but felt there was something that had to be said. First. And now. Even if the thing Snape was doing with his lips, and teeth, and tongue felt like – heaven. It wasn't. And he knew. Not before ...

He nearly jumped away from the lips and mouth and tongue. The bed shook violently. "No." The heavenly mouth curled in disgust or something else. The eyebrow was up again. A sure sign of imminent danger, but Harry was by now far too accustomed to it to give in. Now. "No?" There was a hand in his T-shirt, where it had come from he had no idea. And the fingers of this hand pinched his nipple in a way that nearly made him lie back and beg for more. But no. He wouldn't. 

"Manipulating bastard", he said through clenched teeth. A quiver moved the stern lips, just like the wind turns water into waves. "Yes", said Snape with relish. "And you love me like that." Harry stared. "Well, run out of words, now, Potter? Wonders never cease. That I should live to see the day where you are speechless and don't talk back is something I couldn't have dreamt of." Harry stared still, but he could feel the flush running over his face and crawling into his shirt. It was humiliating. Very.

"Just the mentioning of that little innocent word makes you speechless, Potter. Now is that the grown-up way to deal with things, pray tell? I thought you found my way of dealing with things left something to desire. I still don't see that not talking and not doing a thing is better than simply doing things." The hand crawled back and the mouth drew nearer. "Especially as you love to be overwhelmed. You love to still pretend that you have nothing to do with it. That you fell victim to the bad ugly manipulating bastard of Slytherin, who has somehow bewitched you and your helpless little self, ever the noble Gryffindor, can't do anything against it, as it is not in your character to hurt someone else's feelings. Hm?" With that Snape leant back and looked as calm and composed as a rock, but the air between him and Harry was vibrating with a little more feeling than an ordinary rock has.

Harry felt his throat constrict. He had meant to talk, was dying to talk about things, but he hadn't meant to go that deep into – things. "You really mean it", he said and he knew his voice sounded hurt and defeated. The eyebrow went up. "I always do, Potter". 

Harry turned away to get his thoughts together. Okay, so it was now and here. All – or nothing. He felt like his whole life had come to a turning point. It was coming to terms with each other and the – relationship – they had – and that meant of course both of them, or just let it be. His body ached just at the thought of that second possibility, and the knowledge that he just couldn't know how Snape would react nearly drove him out of the room, but no: He had never turned tail. Never ever. And never would. There was a certain responsibility in being the saviour, the war hero and all that. 

"We have been together, whatever that may mean to you, for more than a year now". Harry jumped straight into it. That was the only way of doing things, wasn't it? "But you never as much as acknowledged me in public. Not even as a colleague, much less a – whatever." He could do this, he knew it, but it was so very hard with Snape looking like that. Exactly as he had done in first year, which had terrified him to the bone. Now he was terrified of other things. 

"A – whatever?" Snape's tone of voice was indescribable. "Pray tell, Mr. Potter, did you learn anything at school – at all? Seven years of Hogwarts should at least have taught you to find words for the not so unusual situations of ordinary life". 

Harry had enough of it, more than enough, he was boiling over with rage. Had he taken the time to think, just for one moment, he would never have said what he did say, but what the heck? Foolhardiness had always been his most treasured trait – well he had called it heroism, of course, in the dead of the night and the quiet of his bed. He had fought Voldemort, the – thing – other persons didn't even dare to talk about by its given name. He sure could tell Snape what he thought he was to him.

"Your boy toy", he screamed. "Your play thing. Your sex puppet. Your love handle. Your human dildo. Your ...". Well, okay, he ran out of words. But he meant them. All of them. He himself hadn't known just how humiliated he felt by Snape's barely nodding at him in public and devouring his whole being in private. 

The black eyes glared like they were on fire. Well, they probably were. Harry felt quite hot under their gaze and resisted the urge to squirm under them scrutinizing him. The thin lips opened, but before a sound could erupt from them, there was a loud knock on the wall, a sort of banging. Both their heads went to the source of said noise. Harry felt an urge to giggle at the look of horror on Snape's face, but that was quickly gone when he himself felt the overwhelming embarrassment that came with the realisation that his outburst had been overheard. 

"Well, use it or loose it", a voice came through the sadly thin wall. "Get on with it or leave it, but enough of the screaming already. Other people need their beauty sleep."

The glare on Snape's face was murderous, and Harry grabbed for his wand hand without thinking before the man could do something that would send him to Azkaban. He would not think about why he did that, much less about why it came that naturally to him to try to defend Snape from his own worst instincts. 

He was reminded, nevertheless, and soon, that Severus Snape was a master of wandless magic. He felt himself glued to the cushion and unable to do anything more than look on while Snape muttered something unintelligible while waving his wand. For a man who despised foolish wand waving, his wand technique was quite stylish and show-offish. But Harry had known that particular trait of Snape since his second year, when Snape had blasted Lockheart from the stage. Much as Harry had hated and feared Snape back then, he had really enjoyed that. Lockheart was even worse than Snape, even when he didn't yet know the worst of him.

He could move again. Magic tingled all around but he didn't sense anything as dark as an unforgivable. He looked at Snape questioningly. The eyebrow went up in a way Harry could now interpret as only slight mockery. As a child, it had been the epitome of contempt to him. The thin lips opened again and Harry knew what Snape had done even before he told him. He could hear the words and could feel them bouncing back from the walls. A silencing charm, a minor infraction of the rules against magic in public. Harry gulped. Well, couldn't be really called public, a lonely hotel room, he and Snape alone in it, or could it? And Snape hadn't yet answered his accusations – because that was what they were, he knew it now, and he felt embarrassed with himself for showing the man just how much he was hurt by his behaviour. He knew that wouldn't do any good, he had learned that from early childhood on – never show them that they can get to you – but surely that shouldn't apply to sexual partners? Harry felt very young and foolish. And still Snape hadn't answered. They would need all the cushioning the silencing spell could provide, before Snape was through with him.

Obviously the man could read thoughts. His, at least. His smile grew more devilish by the second. "You wouldn't think that I would cast an unforgivable, just out of a moment's whim, now would you?" Slow, low, rich velvety tone, Harry wasn't fooled for a second. Plus, he remembered quite vividly a moment when Snape had very nearly done just that, at the end of his third year. Well, the moment of rage had been fuelled by a life-long hatred and a sense of deja vu of everything he hated that would have overwhelmed the strongest man, but still ... Snape was not beyond human feelings, if only the less desirable, even if he pretended to be. And they both knew it. 

"You should know me better than that, after all those years, Mr. Potter". The voice had become even more – intimate. Harry shivered. The room had been damp and overheated before, how was it that he felt his hair stand on ends now? He opened his mouth but Snape waved his hand again and was the first to talk again. "I'd never do such a thing if it wasn't for the good of – the cause". Harry groaned. Just what he needed. A lesson in wizardly behaviour. Snape was a teacher, alright. 

"I was just making sure that we were not going to be that rudely interrupted again, before I was – through - with you". Cold indeed. His whole body was alert. Oh well, fuck hormones. Snape was coming closer again, the bed wriggled in anticipation. Well, wait, it WAS the bed, wasn't it? Surely it wasn't himself moving against Snape? No. Of course not. 

Snape was all around him. Harry wondered how such a thin man could feel so overwhelmingly – overall. He gasped when he felt hot naked skin on his own. He never ceased to be amazed about how such a cold man could be so hot. "You, Mr. Potter, are an ungrateful brat, the most annoying one I ever had the dismal pleasure to teach – with the possible exception of Mr. Longbottom." There was a pause during which both men seemed to think about the implications of that. Harry knew he did – and shivered with nerves. He suppressed a nervous fit – the thought of what Neville would do in the same situation nearly brought him to hysteric laughter. He could just see poor Neville, cowed into the cushions, waiting in horror for the undoubtedly grievous things the Potions master had in store for him. Snape had always had too much fun with being evil to be thoroughly good, and he was at his best in driving fear into the hearts of the populace. Then again – Harry narrowed his eyes – Snape and Neville – in bed? Not really – or was he mad?

Snape snorted. "Not very likely, Potter. Mr. Longbottom would never have the nerve to go as far as you do. He would be dead by now." Another glare. "Not that I am that interested in my students in that way – as a rule." There was a pause. "As I was saying", Snape went on, and Harry thought he discovered a little roughness in his smooth voice, a kind of verbal shiver, and he felt really elated with that. Snape unsure? It was too good to be true. "You, Mr. Potter, seem to be under the delusion that there is something we should talk about." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by a warm and surprisingly soft hand. "It is of course my fault. I should have known that you honest open etc Gryffindor need to have everything spelled out."

Harry could take it no longer. He felt like the idiotic virgin girl in one of these cheap novels aunt Petunia was so fond of. Always pining after some strong hard man to master them and their dismal life. He was not one of them, not in any way, but Snape surely made him feel like it. Like it was wrong that he wanted to know what was between them. Like it was wrong to be not only buggered through the mattress, but get a civilised not to mention friendly word in public. He couldn't imagine himself and Snape coming to breakfast holding hands, never in his life, but that was exactly how Snape made him feel. Like he wanted him to do things he didn't want. Like he wanted a commitment he himself wasn't ready to make. Like he was a needy child and Snape the unforgiving father figure. It made him angry – and feel very lonely and misunderstood. 

"Don't treat me like that", he cried after the hand had been taken away. He never even thought about the silencing charm, he had forgotten it and the room completely. "Don't treat me as if I was insufferably foolish. Perhaps I am, but your way is not the only way to deal with things, nor the only sane way."

Snape looked menacingly. "And who are you to tell, Mr. Potter?" Harry grew hotter. "Well, at least I have friends, and I talk to them in public." Well that had been a little unfair, and Harry felt ashamed. It was not nice to remind other people of their shortcomings. But if they considered their shortcomings as virtues? And pressed all other people to do the same? See. 

A snort. "A werewolf. A mangy dog. A know it all. A Weasley." Harry raised his hand in blind anger. Yes, he knew Snape thought nothing of the people he loved. He had heard it again and again. But this time it was too much, just too much. He had been under a severe strain since boarding the plane, and now it all had come to an end. He felt foolish, and idiotic, and worst of all, he had a feeling that Snape had been right about him all the time. He had told him so when he first met him, right? Why on earth he had ever taken him to bed was beyond him. But he would never again, he knew it. And he himself wouldn't, of course. Not now, not any more, after it was as clear as glass that Snape thought nothing of him. He hadn't contradicted him, had he? He really was a toy to him, nothing more, less than the quill that he used for grading the papers, the one he handled with such scrupulous care Harry had found himself dreaming about how it would feel like to be that quill.

He turned away. "Just let it be". He felt incredibly worn out, like he had just lost a 3 days Quidditch match. "I will be away tomorrow. Leave you to your own devices. I'll just – get lost." He knew he sounded a bit melodramatic. But as there was now no hope, why should he try? He was so tired of trying. 

There was a sigh. "Oh come on, Potter, that is a little too much of youthful histrionics, even for you, don't you think?" Nope, Harry didn't think so and he shook his head stubbornly. He knew he was pouting, too, but he couldn't help it. Wouldn't. 

"Of course not". Another sigh. "So it has to be here of all places and now of all times to have this little – talk?" Oh, had he come to that conclusion all on his own? Harry pouted a little more. And was taken by surprise when two strong arms pulled him to a thin muscular chest so hard it hurt, and a pair of thin soft lips crushed against his own, demanding something, anything. Harry resisted, tried to resist, gave in. That didn't solve anything, someone inside his head cried. They had been that far before and it was all good and all that but that wasn't what he wanted. No. Not really. Oh sod it. Okay. Someone in his mind was singing "Don't talk just kiss baby." Ridiculous. But maybe, just maybe, that someone was right. For the moment.

Harry realised that he was moaning and whimpering, trying to hump against the wonderful thigh between his legs, when suddenly the lips and the leg were gone. Snape leaned against the headboard and looked down at him with a look of triumph Harry wished to slap him silly for. "I thought you wished to talk?", Snape said with a raised eyebrow. "Talk, then". And he leaned his head back a little further and looked for all the world as calm and composed as a very quiet pond. 

"But I don't want to", Harry screamed in frustration. The man was just impossible. Leaving him here, in this state which was only slowly, so very slowly subsiding and could be renewed by just a quiver of those lips, and looking so damn cool and not attached at all. "I want you to talk." The eyebrow went up a little further. "Oh really? I was under the impression that you wanted to leave. Then again, you didn't seem to keen on leaving right now. You did indeed seem quite anxious to be ravished, to tell the truth. Which would prove my point, I should think. So what is there to talk about? Shouldn't you think before you talk and perhaps come to terms with what you want?" 

Harry stared. The man was just too impossible for words. It was like that every time. He knew what he wanted, really, knew, and what he wanted from Snape. But try to tell him was a completely different story. He got diverted by Snape's sayings and doings, and after just a while his head was empty, or more like brimming with too many contradictory emotions and his body was aching. One way or other. 

"I know what I want from you", he said with barely concealed anger, keeping himself in check more than he had ever been capable of doing - to his own surprise. "I want to know what you want from me". Well, now there was it. Surely not even Snape could construct this as anything but a question he had to answer? Well, if he would answer was another story completely, of course.

Snape didn't blink. And he didn't say anything for such a long time that Harry began to wonder if this was reality or a dream. Then the mouth moved. "I wonder", said Snape in such a dreamy voice Harry sure hadn't heard before, ever. He looked at the other man and all his anger left him as if a hole had been poked into a fully inflated balloon. "Oh Sev", was all he could say. 

The man in question seemed to shake himself out of his dreamy state. Harry would have bet on it. "Yes Potter?", he asked perkily. "If you think you can read my mind – why would you want me to say anything?" The eyebrow went up, as if that was necessary. Harry felt like he was trying to dig a hole into a mountain like the Kilimanjaro with just a spoon. Tea spoon at that. 

And suddenly he had enough of it. "Oh okay", he said and laid flat on his back. "Have it your way. Just forget me. Do to me what you must. Don't say anything". He listened for approval from the other side of the wall for a moment but nothing came. Then he remembered the silencing charm. Oh well, so much the better. Yes, it would be useful. Even now when they didn't talk. So much more, now that they didn't talk.

Snape seemed slightly taken aback. Being proven right seemed to distress him a little, but who could really tell with Snape? Harry didn't want to pretend anymore that he had any kind of understanding for the man. And if Snape thought him to be a prude and a hypocrite who needed the evil potion master to overcome his natural inhibitions, and to let loose the animal inside, he was not to convince him otherwise. Nope. Not ever.

Snape managed not to touch him anywhere while looking down on him. "Very well, Mr. Potter", he murmured. Harry thought he had heard the words "told you so" somewhere too, but wasn't too sure about that, as Snape now touched him, everywhere at once. The slim body of the other man slithered about his own like a snake and made Harry writhe and moan and scream and shout and come all over the place so that there was no room for any more thought for a rather long time. The night was long and rough and tender and wet and hot and everything Harry could and had hoped for when deciding to press his company on Snape. 

Well, nearly everything. He had of course hoped for some sign, of meaning, of significance, of something what this all meant to Snape. But as this was not to be had – well, two out of three wasn't bad, Harry thought lazily, while his body clung to that of Snape like it were glued to it. That would prove a bit awkward in the morning, but he was just too comfortable just where he was. And Snape seemed to be the same. Yes, definitely. An amazing trip with a wonderful lover – he didn't need to enter into any kind of commitment on top of that. A lover who was that good at sex and that evil at tongue-lashing, who always kept him on his toes – who needed an engagement to go with that? Not he, Harry thought sleepily, certainly not him. Take things as they come, live each day to the full and to hell with tomorrow. He mumbled himself into sleep, nearly convinced that there was no sore spot somewhere in his chest.

"Any plans for the day?", Snape asked a little too casually when they were sitting in the lounge, sipping on tea in plastic cups and bagels with butter from plastic tins. The room had windows from floor to ceiling, and they could see the bustling street. There was a trolley of sorts, selling all kinds of interesting stuff. Young women on paper showing more than Harry cared to see, ever, were grinning sillily at him. At least they weren't moving. People were running around in a way that made Harry's head spin at this time of the day. Especially after a night like this. He caught the adoring glance at Severus before it got too bright. Well, nearly. The bustle in the street made him want to plunge into it. Let himself be carried away by it, be part of it. Well, he'd have the day for himself, wouldn't he? Severus would be on business.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Just walk around, I think. Just look and feel and well you know." He didn't feel too comfortable. Snape's lips curled before he pressed them together. Harry waited for a scathing remark, but none came. There was a pause. Trust Snape to make Harry feel silly even without a word. The man was so imprinted on his mind – well and on his body, but that was not the point right now, was it? – that he called himself all the names that Snape had bestowed on him for years. Could be called some kind of success for a teacher, a token of his efficiency, but Harry felt supremely idiotic. Well, that wasn't anything new either. 

"Care to accompany me?" Harry stared. The surroundings seemed to rub off on Snape, too. He had never heard the man talk in less than flawless sentences. Well, not at breakfast, that was. The grin that tried to break out was suffocated by the sudden realization of what exactly Snape had said. Harry stared at the man dumbfounded. "What?", he asked.

Snape gave a long-suffering sigh. "Accompany, Potter, as in: I go there, you come with me. Walk with me, that is, or go by whatever means of transportation they have here." Harry stared still. Snape seemed a tad uncomfortable. "Of course you are free to go your own way. Now or while I'm at the conference."

Harry blinked. "Oh, alright". Well, of course he could walk Snape to work. Would be better, now that he thought of it. The other man would wreak havoc on the first non-suspecting criminal who dared touch him. Harry didn't say another word and munched his breakfast. Snape drank his tea and looked pointedly not at Harry.

It was an adventure, going by subway, Harry decided. And it was good that he – accompanied - Snape. The other man would have hexed the crowd into oblivion where it not for Harry taking his wand hand now and again. Well, would be easier to just hold on to it, but Harry wouldn't push his luck. Nope, he felt elated just as it was. They didn't meet with any accident on the way, for which Harry was a little proud.

They came up into the air – if air you might call it, it sure wasn't anything like the air that surrounded Hogwarts and that Harry hadn't ever thought special, but now knew it was, pure and soft, nothing like the intoxicating and invigorating oxygen-free variant they had here – in an area of the town that looked decidedly different from that where they came from. No big houses, no glass, no chrome, no billboards. There were two-storied houses, three, five at the highest, and they were old brownstones with the only colour coming from real and old paint. Even the people looked different. It was as crowded as "uptown", Harry thought smugly, he considered himself something of a connoisseur, after he had read the guide to the town, but the people looked different. It felt a bit like – home. Diagon alley without the wizards and witches – but who could tell, really?!

Harry's head turned around and around, looking after all the strange people. Snape of course had his usual stride and his usual haughty demeanour. He wouldn't look after anyone, thank you very much. He just stalked along and the crowd parted before him, like always. He seemed to have forgotten totally about Harry too. Harry sighed. Nothing new under the sun. Well, he would have all the time in the world to look as long at things and people as he wanted, once he had delivered Snape at kindergarten. Harry sniggered and earned a deadly stare from black eyes. He kept his glee to himself. Snape wouldn't approve of his view of things. He never did.

Snape stopped in front of a building that seemed even older than the rest. He looked on some officious paper he retraced out of the depths of his robe and nodded solemnly. Harry figured out that this must be the place where the bicentennial meeting of "Potion Masters Unlimited" took place. The air around the building shivered in anticipation. Harry followed Snape sweeping into the hall. The man hadn't told him to leave, now had he?

He was taken aback by the somewhat dusty luxury of the place. There were candles all over, chandeliers, and large pieces of parchment, that looked like they had been made by Merlin himself, announcing all kinds of fascinating lectures Harry didn't understand a word of. Old and dignified looking wizards and witches walked around solemnly, gazing at the strange pair of them with piercing eyes, before getting back to more important things. Harry was duly cowed. This was the world Severus lived in? He felt young and foolish, like a very small and idiotic child. How could he have ever thought –hoped – wished, even? He was such a git.

"I have to go to the registration", said Snape who seemed not a bit subdued by the atmosphere. But why should he? He fitted in perfectly, with his black clothes and solemn demeanour. "Well, okay then", said Harry and turned to the man to take his leave. Or would have, if Snape hadn't walked away to a table at the side of the big hall. Harry muttered under his breath but followed Snape. There was nothing else he could do, was there? He had to know when and where they would meet again. 

He came to the table when the young and supremely clueless looking person who resembled his friend Ron astonishingly, which made Harry feel much better, asked Snape: "And you are, sir?" Snape glared, but then held out one hand for a handshake. "Hi, my name is Severus Snape." The other hand went at the back of a dumb-founded Harry. "And this is my fiancé, Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you."

The hand held Harry, who would otherwise have dropped to the floor, here and now. The whole world seemed to look at them, or at least the whole big hall of esteemed wizards and witches. Harry saw only Snape. Snape who now looked at him with the sneer that was his usual expression, but with a very small smile that just about tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Mr. Potter doesn't stay here for the Convention, of course. He has other things to do, haven't you?"

Harry nodded. He didn't trust his voice to say anything. Or too much. Had Snape really said what he thought he had?

"Pleased to meet you", the Ron-look-alike answered and shook Snape's hand, although it was definitely not the usual behaviour on this occasion. "Pleased to meet your fiancé, too. How do you do, Mr. Potter?" Clearly, the young man was a bit confused, his politeness was a trifle much for the occasion. On the other hand ...

"Good", said Harry and felt his own face light up in utter joy. "Very good, thank you, sir. It is a wonderful day, isn't it?"

"Er, yes", said the employee, looking endearingly like Ron. "I assume it is. A tad warm, but...".

"Can't be too warm", Harry grinned. "I love – warmth". The hand on his back drew him into the man still standing beside him. "You do, don't you?" It sounded as if Snape had given in to fate and wasn't too angry about it. Only resigned. "Yes!", said Harry with conviction and looked up into the black eyes that had haunted him for so long. Finally he got his reward. If reward it was, but he wouldn't go there now. There was ample time for worries later. 

"I thought so", said Snape, sounding like an indulgent father of a three year old, and Harry was about to protest, but then Severus crushed him into himself, and his lips to his own, and well, he forgot what he was about to say.

"See you at the hotel", said Snape, who didn't even look hot from the kiss that had made Harry dizzy all over. "Try not to get lost. I would miss you."

Harry blinked. "You would". The gaze got angry. Harry knew that one. "Yes, I would. But now don't test my patience any longer. I have work to do." And with that Snape turned around and left Harry thinking about what it was about Snape that always made him feel – well, made him FEEL. And just how he was going to punish Snape in the evening. In the hotel room. Wouldn't hurt to practice some silencing charms on the way.

__

The end


End file.
